


What is Right and What is Good

by LandofWordsandNonsense (RiaHawk)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Astrid is Having Doubts, Caleb Widogast (mentioned) - Freeform, Introspection, Multi, Trent Ikithon (mentioned) - Freeform, all relationships are in the past alas, broken moral compass, elaborate silent conversations, rationalization is a bitch, they're even more mentally compromised than Caleb, this far and no farther
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 17:26:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaHawk/pseuds/LandofWordsandNonsense
Summary: It was an elaborate code of slight gestures and seemingly irrelevant actions, built up over the years, started when there were still three of them. No one without a keen eye that caught every detail, no matter how minute, a prodigious memory that could catalog every stray moment, and a fearsome intellect that could analyze and assign meaning to the subtlest of movements in the space of a heartbeat could have even seen there was a code, much less followed it."Will you help me to do something that might be terrible?""For the greater good?""I do not know."





	What is Right and What is Good

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written to be a chapter in a longer work, but that longer work isn't going to be written for some considerable time. But this scene stuck with me, and it works fairly well as a stand alone. Just a take I've never seen before on these characters (which will almost certainly be jossed as soon as we get Caleb's backstory involved again but oh well).

It was an elaborate code of slight gestures and seemingly irrelevant actions, built up over the years, started when there were still three of them. No one without a keen eye that caught every detail, no matter how minute, a prodigious memory that could catalog every stray moment, and a fearsome intellect that could analyze and assign meaning to the subtlest of movements in the space of a heartbeat could have even seen there was a code, much less followed it.

 

They were old hands at it.

 

One never knew, after all, when someone was listening, or who that someone might be, and after so many years of guarding the Empire from treachery from within- treachery in all its forms- the paranoia set in too deeply to ever truly be effaced. They had assumed for years that every conversation they had was overheard, that every word they spoke was carefully vetted to ensure they were not harboring treacherous thoughts. True, there were other languages, but other languages could be understood, by speakers or by spells, and the mere fact that they were conversing in a language beyond Common or Zemnian would have drawn notice.

 

So when they needed to speak of things that were not entirely correct, when the words they needed could be considered treasonous, when they were troubled by doubts and questions concerning those they knew to be unquestionable... then they did not speak at all.

 

It was Astrid who began the conversation one night, sitting in the library, turning the needlework project in her lap just so in a way that meant  _ I would like to ask you something. _

 

Eodwulf set his glass of whiskey down in a particular way that meant  _ Go ahead. _

 

She peered at her stitching, then readjusted the positioning of her needle.  _ Do you ever think about your parents? _

 

He flicked the corner of the page he was reading absently.  _ Sometimes. _

 

She compared the color of the skein she was working with to another thoughtfully, laying contrasting strands across her lap.  _ Do you still think they deserved it? _ She had, once. She’d been convinced that her parents deserved no other kindness from her than a quick death, for what they'd done. Somewhere over the course of the years, though, that conviction had faded to an extent, and sometimes, in the small hours of the night, she wondered.

 

There was a hesitation. Then he took a sip of his whiskey with deliberation.  _ Yes. _

 

She examined her needlework again critically, knotting and clipping the thread, then carefully rethreading her needle.  _ Because they were traitors? _

 

He turned the page and ran his finger along a particular line.  _ No. _

 

She held her needlework up to check the positioning of her stitches.  _ Then why? _

 

He set his glass down, and ran his thumb around the rim distractedly, then shifted the position of his leg.  _ Because they left me here. _

 

She leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.  _ I see. _

 

The conversation lapsed.

 

There was still a part of her that earnestly believed it had been right and necessary to the safety of the Empire, that traitors deserved no better than death, and that even if they did, it was her duty to see to it they could not hurt anyone with their sedition and their treachery. That the scars they'd inflicted upon themselves were but a small price to pay for the stability of the Empire.

 

There was another part of her that she seldom acknowledged and never spoke of that wondered how much of that belief had been her own idea.

 

They had been a formidable team. Between the two boys, a brilliant, nigh-matchless tactician and a practically infallible memory that held the smallest of details indefinitely. But Astrid had always been the one that noticed the patterns, that put the smallest pieces together.

 

She still hadn't noticed until she was being trained to conduct interrogations on her own, until she'd started to really use spells like Suggestion and Charm Person, honey sweet words that could encourage the one under interrogation to level with her before things became extreme.

 

Then one day she'd felt that same honey sweetness around Eodwulf after a debriefing with Master Ikithon, and the pieces fell into place.

 

If he had been casting mind affecting spells on Eodwulf, it stood to reason he had cast them on her as well. But she had not found it in herself to think ill of Master Ikithon, and anyway, it was all for the safety and prosperity of the Empire.

 

And if the safety and prosperity of the Empire had required things that were not good, not right to be done... well. They had to be done, and if not by her then by someone else, so she'd held her tongue. She was strong enough to shoulder that burden. She had been strong enough since the night their innocence had died with their traitorous families.

 

They had never discussed that night, not amongst each other. Eodwulf had refused to admit he'd ever had parents at all for years, going dark and quiet. She had refused to feel, a shard of ice replacing the heart in her chest. And the brightest, youngest star of their constellation...

 

She would have saved him if she could, taking his share of the necessary weight. But it wasn't to be. She had mourned that night for the last time. Mourned the parents she had loved that had betrayed her, betrayed everything. Mourned the kind girl she had always thought she'd be. Mourned the boys she had once thought to love, as they did what was necessary and paid the price. Eodwulf would never laugh again, would never smile that bashful smile that had captured her heart.

 

The brightest star had burned away.

 

She had mourned, and then she let the ice take her, surrounding her in a shield that would not melt nor break, that would not let any feelings through, because if she did not feel she could not hurt. She had worn her self-imposed emptiness like a badge of honor, responding to those who called her Iceheart with nothing but a slight smile of pride. She had grown stern and cruel in her heartlessness, and she thought it a small enough tribute, that others may go on with their hearts still warm.

 

And for a long time, that had sufficed.

 

Now, things had changed, and she was no longer as certain of her convictions as she once had been.

 

She put her needlework down, and Eodwulf raised an eyebrow at her. "My eyes are tired from the lamplight," she said, vocalizing at last. "Shall we play chess? Or are you enthralled by your book?" There was a silent question in the way her hand rested on the arm of her chair.

 

"No. We shall play chess." He carefully put his book down, absently marking his place. Their wordless conversation would resume.

 

She settled at the table with the chessboard, gracefully arranging her skirt.  _ Will you help me do something that might be terrible? _

 

He sat as well, angling his chair for better light.  _ For the greater good? _

 

She considered the pieces with her head tilted, then reached out to hesitate over first one pawn, then another, before taking a third and moving it forward two spaces.  _ I do not know. A part of me says it will be the wickedest thing I have ever done, the other says it will be the only thing to redeem me. _

 

He considered his own play, nearly moving a pawn before moving a knight instead.  _ You are compromised. _

 

She moved a bishop three spaces. _ I am. I do not know what is good and what is right. _

 

He moved a pawn a single space forward.  _ Then why? _

 

She considered the board, tapping one exquisitely manicured nail against her cheek for a moment, before brushing her hair behind her ear again and moving her queen decisively to the far edge of the board.  _ For sixteen years and more they have called me Astrid of the Iceheart and now I find there is just enough heart left in me that I must try to save one I once loved. _

 

He frowned, then moved his other knight into position to threaten her queen.  _ Will you be in danger? _

 

She brought another pawn forward with no hesitation.  _ If I am not killed in the act, I shall certainly be hanged for treachery. _

 

He slid a bishop forward.  _ What do you want to do? _

 

She tapped her cheek again thoughtfully as her eyes ranged over the layout of the chessboard. Then, with a small smile, she moved her queen forward, capturing a pawn and putting him in checkmate.  _ Kill Master Ikithon. _

 

He looked surprised at the sudden checkmate, and leaned back with a faintly stunned expression.  _ I am tired. I will help you _ . Then his expression changed into a rueful smile.  _ He was always the best of us. _

 

She smiled back, a little mischievous.  _ He was. He is. _

 

They both started gathering the pieces back into place. "Eodwulf," she said quietly, making him blink at her. "I have not been capable of love, neither giving nor receiving, in a long time." She neatly slotted the pieces into their drawer and closed it. "Do you still love me?"

 

He looked at her for a long moment. "No."

 

She nodded with a serene smile. "I thought as much. Did you ever love him?"

 

"My dear, I never stopped."

 

She nodded again. "That's as it should be."

  
  



End file.
